The Haunting of High Inquisitor Rockcandy

If you would, gather closer around the fire. My, the woods are full of frights tonight, aren't they foalings? If you listen….yes, I see your faces – you hear the whispers too, now don't you? I tell you, there are bad things wandering these glens. Yes, even worse than werenicorns or leprechauns; things more deadly than eccentric counts. I know this, because I have seen much in my time. I was a truth-getter and now I am a truth-giver. Are you brave enough to hear my tale? You are? Good.

So we begin.

In my youth, I was not one to believe in the supernatural. I trusted only what these piercing eyes could see; the mundane, if you insist. As a pegacorn myself, my great rationality was at first a burden, singling me out among those would be compatriots who were, shall we say, prone to flights of the fancy variety. Over time, I was able to win them over with my mastery of the dubstep tango at the Prance Dances; one of only two ways to advance in society, as you well know. However, the question remained re: my place in this world.

Eventually, my extreme propensity toward the rational, even in the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary, was looked with something other than abject fear. Instead, it was recognized as a gift. I was trained in the delicate art of truth-getting. I like to think I brought a new level of finesse to the process. My primary occupation was to interview those suspected of “other-thoughts” – views not sanctioned by the Creamy Court and Castle.

It was amazing how many creatures were deemed to be guilty other-thoughts. Astonishing, really. Also strange was the fluidity of the definition of other-thoughts. However, those are merely office politics and do not concern our story now.

Late in my career I was given a case in a desolate manor not too far from where we are now. A sparkle fathom at most. I was to investigate the claims of one Madame Sugarflank, a medium of no little renown. She had particular success in raising…something at the abandoned estate. Think one moment on the implications of this. How many souls had not been given even a Wicked Withering before they met executioner’s blade? Or an assassin’s lick-sharpened candy cane? If it was true that the dead could be raised, the concern was then that the dead would also talk. That could not be allowed.

The simplest solution would have been to silence her, but she had very powerful friends. Most did not believe she posed any true threat. Indeed, even the royals themselves had been rather tolerant until she started to claim that she had been in touch with Lord Baron Brulee. Of all enemies of the crown, he had been the most trouble.

Brulee claimed that the purest lineage had been tainted with the blood of a common unicorn and it was the offspring of that slightly less magical pairing that ruled over the Glimmer Lands. He had been warned to keep silent, less the whole realm be thrown into successor confusion. Instead, bridled (the absolute worse feeling for a Pegacorn) by the thought of censorship, he had formally charged the ruling Queen with Obstruction of Linebreeding. I’d never heard of such a clear case of other-thoughts, but alas, this all happened before I was even born.

During the proceedings, the Queen was of course exonerated, and the judge turned to the Baron, pronouncing him guilty of Spoiling the Fun Article: 2A. A crime punishable by death. The Queen insisted that he be made an example and that his death should not come swiftly. First, all of his possessions not acquisitioned by the royal household were burned in front of him; the velvet and frosting paintings, the vast food pantry or what some would call a human nursery, the gold-plated diamond-shellacked tea towels, nothing was spared the angry tongue of flame. Second, his lands were turned into a sanctuary for melting snowmen, essentially completely flooding his once fertile fields. Third, his family was cast down to become like the poorest dregs of ordinary unicorn society. They all died within a week from malnutrition and terminal confusion. Only then was he allowed to rot away in the cells below the palace.

In the early days of his incarceration, he would rage and vow vengeance, but as the dungeon took its toll, he grew quiet. Before he finally expired, the guards started to report eerie lights coming from his cell and the sound of many voices, chanting. This would have been great cause for concern, had he not conveniently opened his veins upon the jagged rock wall, seemingly as the culmination of some arcane ritual.

You understand why they decided to use my…considerable talents. I was to inveigle myself to the Madame and be present at the next séance so I could, with authority, put these rumors to rest.

It was an evening much of dark and storms. I arrived at the manse just as the séance was about to begin. I shook the storm-leavings from my pelt and was met by the current owner of the manor, a dumb young fellow with the family name of Sweetrosing, but who preferred to be called “Cobbles.”

When I say dumb, I mean really stupid-dumb. By Artax, was that boy dumb. But I digress.

I was greeted by Cobbles who was supposed to be my man on the inside and led to the grand parlor room where the lights were turned quite low. Already my suspicions were mounting. A lot can be hidden in the shadows. Upon cantering through the wide doors, my hide was covered in what I now know was goosebumps. I had never felt them before, you see. The extremely aged Madame Sugarflank sat at the head of the table swathed in layers and layers of gauzy fabric. I will admit, upon first viewing, I could feel the intense pull of her personality. The air smelled of candied incense, a beautiful unicorn was playing a rather sinister melody on a harp, and the thickly plush carpeting hid every hoof-fall. Immediately, one felt a player in some vast and horribly frightening melodrama. Oh yes, there was something delightfully tawdry about the whole setup. I pulled up a chair beside the Madame, eager to begin my investigation.

I cleared my throat. “Madame Sugarflank, it is an honor to meet one as esteemed as yourself.” No reply. “I hold you in such high regard and simply cannot wait for the treats you have in store for us tonight.” Again, no reply. I only saw her nostrils flare slightly in response. It was obvious I would get nowhere with this line of questioning, so I settled in and waited for the others to join me at the table. Once all the seats were full, Cobbles decided he wanted a nap and abandoned me to the true believers. I tried to remind him he was the host and therefore should be present (the underlying meaning was that of I course I expected him to assist me, but undertones seem to evade his fracturable mind). After going out the wrong door twice, he finally made it out of the parlor and began his ascent to the room upstairs. I fully expected him to trip and break his neck before he returned. Or perhaps hoped. Again, I digress. Part of me wondered if indeed, he was in on the “psychic phenomena” but I consider myself to be a good judge of character, after all my time truth-getting. When I had looked into his eyes, I saw nothing but a vacant desert of empty whistling nothingness.

After the door was again shut, the unicorn left off playing at the harp and joined the rest of the group. The atmosphere quickly ate up any ancillary conversation and I found myself waiting with bated breath, staring at the Madame. The lights guttered and were spent, leaving only a single candlestick lit on the table before the medium. “Simple enough, if one knows a house, to control airflow like that.” I thought to myself.

Then Madame Sugarflank spoke in a voice as dusty and wizened as her visage. “Welcome. Welcome to the beginning of belief. What you see here tonight will be a lifting of the veil between this life and the next.”

Murmurs caught like wildfire around the table.“Silence!” She opened her heavy lidded eyes, which were milky white. “I must have complete concentration at all times in order to control the spirit realm.”

The unicorn beside me shuddered deeply.

“First, we shall have a prognosticatory reading.” She turned her head toward me. The scent of graveyard flowers followed with it. “You, sir, are a favorite of the Court. But you are not like the others, oh, no. You are much more serious.” She pulled a face. “You question and you pry and you get and you see what others do not. It is a curse, not a blessing as you suppose. One day, it will mean your downfall, Candyrock.”

I had to stifle a laugh. Obviously the lady had done her homework, but it was not hard to find who I was, being a relatively public figure. However, to not get my name quite right was the mistake of an amateur.

“Now, we will continue with a message from the Beyond.” She started to shake and twist her neck back and forth. Chains began to rattle. It took all my will not to roll my eyes.

“Is there someone here who has lost one they love?”

“Oh, yes, that will be a stretch.” I murmured under my breath.

The lovely unicorn who had been playing the harp gasped. “Yes, I have lost someone I love!”

“Was it a young man, perhaps a beau?” The unicorn nodded, tears running down her roseate cheeks.

I also nodded, taking note of her black veil and engagement ring that she kept twisting. Ripe for the picking.

The psychic wailed for a moment and then continued. “He says not to be sad.”

The unicorn nodded again. “That is exactly what he would say.”

“His name starts with a G?”

“Actually, it's a J, for Jamington.”

“Yes, silly me, same sound you know.”

Yes. Silly all of them.“He also wants you to know that he forgives you and the dog that you used to love is with him as well.”

“I never owned a dog.”

She looked perplexed for a second, but quickly spoke again, “Perhaps, you misunderstood, perhaps it was a cat?”

“Of course, dear, your sweet little cat.”

“Actually, the cat was quite large…”“Oh, I'm sorry dear, he's fading away, faaaaadiiiing awaaaaay, and he's gone.”

“Oh.”

The unicorn brought a handkerchief to her eyes and wept silently. I wanted to console her, but I knew the best way to serve her would be to expose this fraud, as I fully intended.

“Madame, is there anyone else trying to reach you tonight, perhaps the Baron who is said to haunt these halls?”

Her voice went high and reedy. “Baaaarrrron…Baaaarrron, are you here with us tonight? If so, knock three times.”

There was a loud pounding that filled the room, originating from the hardwood table, if my guess was correct.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

“Ah, so you are here. Please, give us a sign to let us know if you wish to commune tonight.”

She shuddered again and a miasmic material began to emanate from her muzzle. The others around the table started and one of them screamed. The sound of a pegacorn snorting in pain came from all corners of the room and the last remaining light went…out…

I don't know which one bolted first, but I think it may have been the fragile harpist. However, soon, all followed out the door, leaving just myself and the Madame and whatever was pouring from her mouth. The dark substance began to materialize between her and I, twisting in shapes that I do not care to recall, though I see them every time I close my eyes at night. The contortions of hell and anguish soon began to take a more definite form, that of a mighty Pegacorn. While still smoke, his eyes appeared, red as cinnamon candy. The groan and snorts escalated until my ears felt like they were going to burst from the sounds; the sounds of damnation.

Abruptly, they ceased and with the sudden relief, came the realization that I had been holding my hooves over my ears and shutting my eyes. As I slowly returned to my senses, I realized the large imposing ghost figure had shrunk. Considerably. I peered down and saw…a slug. Mucous yellow and wibbly wobbly, its stalks twisted in agitation. Between the stalks glinted what seemed to be a small, but unmistakable horn.

“Baron Brulee, nice to have you with us again.”

It was slowly slithering my direction. “How…” I was almost at a loss for words. Imagine that. “How is this the baron? What has become of him?”

The Madame chuckled derisively. “Do you not remember his coat-of-arms?”

Of course, a slugicorn against a crimson background. How could I have forgotten? The very same shield still sat at the entrance to this manor. All that effort, all the dark magic he had exacted and this is all the blasphemous forces had been able to rally. Could it be true? Was this woman not a fraud after all? But then, what else was true? Most importantly, what lay beyond the veil?

I inclined toward the slugicorn. “Baron, if it is indeed you, I am the High Inquisitor and as such, I have questions to ask of you.”

The tiny animal nodded what I could only assume was his head.

“First, was the accusation true? Is the royal house tainted?”

The Baron nodded.

The knowledge was now a burden I must bear, do with it what I would. But I had an even more pressing question.

“Brulee, you must tell me, I MUST know…what is it like on the other side? Where have you been?”

Its stalks were swinging wildly and the whole body of the thing seemed to go into spasms.

“Quick!” I called. “A pen, ink, something! We must get the ultimate truth!”

Madame Sugarflank nodded toward an inkpot by her side. “For the occasion of automatic writing,” she informed.

I ripped a piece off the white tablecloth and set both items in front of the ghostly apparition. It dipped its horn in the ink and began to scrawl on the cloth. I repeated the letters as they were drawn.

“T-H-E-R-E space I-S space N-O…”

The doors swung open again and all the lights were turned on. Cobbles had returned from his nap.

“Oh, what is going on in here? I thought you had all gone.”

He set eye on the slugicorn. “Oh. My. Artax.”

He stumbled over and squealed. “What is that disgusting thing doing on my nice carpet?”

It was all over in an instant. There was nothing I could have done. I must remind myself of that. But to this day, I see the look of pleading of the Baron, the slugicorn, in the moment before it was trampled into jelly beneath the thoughtless hooves of Cobbles.I left that room a shattered pegacorn, my foalings. My mane had turned a silver white and I seemed to have aged a decade in that one night. I returned to my position and filed my very detailed report. It brought one of two reactions, that either the Madame was still a fraud and I had been unable to suss her or that if there had been a threat, it was over and therefore not of interest to anyone in the Royal family. But I could not let it go. I am a truth-getter and the truth was that the Baron had come back. That a great wrong had been done to his family and himself. I set about trying to make things right. I had my evidence after all, the slightly be-slimed cloth reading “There is no…” but I was laughed out of court, laughed out of council, and laughed out of society. No one would believe me. An outcast once again.

The existence of those gruesome powers Baron Brulee had contacted preyed upon my thoughts. I was a tormented soul day in and day out. I took to wandering the woods by the manor, hoping that the Baron would come back and finish his message. My visits back to town became and less and now I am as you see before you, an old hermit, subsisting on the land, telling my stories for a sip of gimcrack or snort of pixi stix. …

“What do you think of my story, foalings? Can you fathom what the Baron was trying to communicate?” The once High Inquisitor took out a very old, very faded piece of linen that still read “There is no…”

“There is no, there is no what?” He began violently shoving the paper in their faces. “Tell me. Tell me! Do any of you know?”

The wind picked up and the strange whispering sounds from the trees seemed to be coming closer.

“Uh, we should get going, right guys?” Said a foaling who was obviously the leader of the group. “Don't listen to what this old loon says, he's just crazy. Ask anyone in town, they’ll tell you.”

He started walking back towards their campsite, followed by all save one. A gangly thing by any standard, with a glint of intelligence in his eyes.The old Pegacorn had shrunk into himself.

“Excuse me, sir?”

He looked back up. “Yes, foaling?”

“I believe you, Mr. High Inquisitor Candyrock Jawbreaker, sir.” He then turned tail and galloped to the relative safety of his friends.He was already out of earshot when the High Inquisitor replied.

“It's Rockcandy, son, not Candyrock!” He paused for a beat, as realization swept over him in a grim tide. “Oh, no. No, it can't be…”

Close, very close, came a laugh that sounded just like Madame Sugarflanks.